


She's My Cherry Pie

by sheis-theslayer (Perididdle)



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint is present but not involved, Cunnilingus, F/F, Hawkfarm, OT3, Oral Sex, Other, Pies are Extremely Important, Polyamory, Polyfidelity, Triads, polyvengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:22:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4705859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perididdle/pseuds/sheis-theslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Laura Barton has said it once, she has said it a thousand times: no one touches the food while she's cooking. Especially if it's her pies.</p>
<p>But Natasha Romanoff never listens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's My Cherry Pie

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, I got so fed up with the lack of Laura/Nat around the internet that I took matters into my own hands. Oops.
> 
> Just a little dirty fic about what Natasha gets up to when she feels like Laura should be paying her more mind. Set within the closed polyamorous triad of Clint/Nat/Laura, but sometimes the girls need a little alone time.

If Laura Barton has said it once, she has said it a thousand times: no one touches the food while she's cooking. Especially if it's her pies.

_(“They're award winning, you know. Blue ribbon in the county fair,” she says with a wink as she drops them off to her elderly neighbors, as if rural Iowa were always in her plans and the call of the city didn't make her palms itch some nights.)_

But Natasha Romanoff never listens.

Laura is just minding her own business, tending to an afternoon pie that promises to delight her children, please her husband, and quiet her wife, when the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up.

“I swear, Nat,” she says, loud and clear like a bell, “if you're thinking about it, you can stop right now.”

There's no reply, but the silence hums against her skin like a comfortable summer breeze and she knows Nat heard. Laura continues to work her dough, tuned into the pressure of her rolling pin the same way she is tuned into the space of the kitchen. She's no trained assassin, but the magnetic pull of Natasha's body across open air is unmistakable.

“You know you can't sneak up on me like you used to,” she adds, matter of fact. She slides her bottom crust into the pan, pressing it gingerly into the curves of the glass.

Satisfied, she turns to her bowl of cherries and finds a smirking redhead locking eyes with her.

“That's why I wasn't trying to,” Nat says. She pops a cherry in her mouth, brazen. Her lips curl deeper into a grin.

And then she runs.

“Natasha Romanoff!” Laura snaps, poised to follow her. She glances down at her hands, all floured and greasy, and lets out a frustrated groan on her way to yanking the tap on.

“There aren't any places to hide in this house that I don't know about!” She shouts over her sudsing. Wriggling out of her apron and ditching it on the floor, she's jogging through the house wiping her hands on her jeans in seconds -- which doesn't mean much when you're tracking a spy, but Laura wasn't any regular housewife.

The big old farmhouse creaks even when you look at it wrong, which works to her advantage. Even someone who moves like a cat makes noise here. That gets her to the hallway, and it's the hinge on the guest room door that sends her bounding up the stairs.

_(She'd asked Clint to fix it a hundred times, but if he wasn't muttering about the dining room floor, he was going on about the basement stairs or the horse barn. She asked for nothing but one damn hinge and got a whole new house built around the god forsaken thing.)_

She pokes her head into the guest room, eyes sweeping the space. “Nat, this isn't going to last very long. And don't think I'm above scolding you. I have a whole speech prepared.”

The closet is getting a once-over when a swirling waft of Natasha's exotic shampoo jolts her back in time to see a ghost of stolen flannel round the door toward the bedroom.

Laura follows, annoyance fading ever-so-slightly into bemusement. They hadn't played these games in...well. Ever? Usually Nat was too hesitant to go even remotely super-spy in the comfort of the “Hawkfarm,” as she called it when she thought no one else was paying her real attention. When she did, it was for the kids, or to torment Clint, or to mystify the stray golden retriever who had allegedly “just shown up” one day. The playful air that now trails her makes Laura's insides stir.

With the Barton bedroom door wide open, she enters warily, on full alert. She is no longer putting it past Natasha to tackle her to the ground. Or, more likely: pop up and say “boo” before bursting into laughter, because that girl is the biggest dweeb Laura had ever met.

And she went to _Northwestern._

Soon she's standing in the master bath, examining the towel closet and wondering exactly how tight of a space her lover was capable of fitting into. After a cursory check, she feels quite silly, but at least certain that this room is clear.

When she turns and finds Natasha standing in the doorway, she's more surprised by how unstartled she is than anything else.

_(Part of her brain kicks into full gear at the image, the quiet part, full of memories that make her ache even in their brilliance. The same girl standing there, between her and the bedroom, smaller and more spindly and full of fear. The same girl, a child -- no, a young woman, Laura chides herself, the same age she was when she met Clint -- whose green eyes blazed with anger and loss, and whose hand wrapped around a pocket knife she must've found stashed deep in a drawer. The same girl, who Laura realized could soon become her killer, whose hateful gaze she met and murmured, “do what you need to do, but if Clint trusts you, I trust you.” The same girl who went rigid and bolted back to her safe room and, once she left the farm, refused to lay eyes on Laura for almost a year and a half.)_

“You are in so much trouble,” she starts, face set in a stern expression and hand poised for some very disappointed gestures. Nat's amused expression flits lazily from Laura's eyes to her wagging finger, alighting a fresh flame of frustration.

Without warning, she springs forward, barreling into the lithe form of her wife. Nat, to her credit, lets out sound of surprise, though Laura is pretty sure she's only getting the upper hand because Nat allows it. They tumble to the ground in a heap, the spy expertly taking the brunt of the soft impact with an “oof.”

Scrambling, Laura races to straddle the other woman's middle before she can move.

Nat's eyes are wider now, a satisfying development despite the spark behind them.

“I feel like you're not taking me very seriously.” Laura settles her hands on her hips, lips pursed.

“Oh, so pies are serious business now?”

Laura scoffs with derision. “Pies are _always_ serious business.”

“You were distracted.”

“Only because you interrupted me.”

“No,” Nat says, bringing her hands to rest on Laura's legs around her belly. Her lips frame the ghost of a well-trained pout. “The _pies_ were the distraction. I hate being ignored.”

A pang of suspicion in Laura's chest unfurls into the full blown realization that she has been had.

“You tricked me, you devil,” she whispers, shifting her hands as the Russian's fingers creep up along her thighs.

“In some places, that's what they call me.” One slender red eyebrow cocks skyward, and Laura tries her best to not stare at the grin that sneaks onto Nat's mouth. “Not usually in the bedroom, but I could get used to it...”

The singsong tone of triumph is enough to bring Laura crashing a kiss down onto her lover, lest she get the chance to gloat.

Pleasant surprise bubbles up from Nat's throat, the sound vibrating against Laura's lips as she sinks into the kiss. She tumbles through the silence of them for a moment, not pressing, appreciating the feeling of Nat's palms on her hips, of Nat's chest pressed to hers. Her hands fall to the ground to support her and grant leverage when the other woman's tongue seeks hers.

Laura allows one brief murmur of appreciation when Nat slips between her lips to explore her mouth. She can feel her heartbeat rise as the kiss intensifies, thrumming in her ears when she thinks about all of the places that tongue has been. And, she thinks as she tugs back, the places she will send it.

“You taste like cherries,” she scolds. Nat laughs as her warm fingers slip beneath the hem of Laura's shirt. She pauses for the tremor that dances over Laura's body at the feather-light scratch of fingernails on skin.

“That'd be more effective if you didn't look so good right now.”

_(“Would she even want to?” Laura asked, customary cool breaking as heat raced over her cheeks and the tips of her ears. Clint smiled at her, but his eyes were questioning. “We're close, with all the time we spend together here, and with everything you two are these days, but would she really...want me there, too?”_

_Her husband laughs and she's almost hurt, but she understands it later when she's standing half-clothed in front of Natasha in the dim light of their bedroom. The other woman's eyes take her in so deeply that she feels more naked than she is. She relaxes when Clint wraps his arms around her from behind, but his low voice, packed with heat, nearly makes her crumble right there._

_“Wanna touch her, 'Tasha?”_

_She remembers Nat's fingers being red hot against her, and her lips being soft, and a ringing in her ears as they kissed for the first time.)_

“Lectures only work when you don't want my tongue on you?” Laura asked sweetly.

Practiced hands race up her torso, tugging her shirt off. Nat shakes her head.

“That's not my plan,” she says as she expertly flips Laura beneath her.

Laura has no time to argue before she's being kissed senseless again, this time with insistence that makes her dizzy. Nat's expert tongue traces her own while her hands slide in opposite directions, one burrowing in brown hair and the other moving to follow the lines of Laura's breasts and ribs and hip bones.

Limbs electric, Laura manages to work some of the buttons on the flannel Nat stole from Clint. When she gets just a moment to come up for air, she admires the peek of a blood red bra against freckled skin.

Nat has other ideas, though, fingers wrapping around Laura's wrists and pushing them against the ground. She trails her lips along Laura's jaw, moving with languid purpose as she places kisses all the way to her ear. The nibble along her earlobe elicits a giggle from Laura, but it soon collides with a gasp when Nat dips her mouth to base of her neck, toying with spots that make Laura's head go blank.

It shouldn't be so easy, she reasons to herself, trying with mixed results to control the sharp intakes of breath that her body reaches for as Nat nibbles along the hollow of her throat. Married to two spies, a hardass in her own right, an accomplished lover -- she should be able to withstand this level of torment. But as her stomach clenches with a building energy, she knows she's long gone.

Another shiver races over her whole body, uncontrollable in its grip upon her. Nat swoops up for air, face smug. She releases just one of Laura's hands, the pads of her fingers trailing along the soft vein of her inner arm.

_(The first time Laura shook beneath her, panic pooled in Nat's eyes so fast it looked like she would drown in it. Clint caught her as she backed off so hard that she nearly tumbled off the bed, hands wrapping around her naked middle as he let out a string of gentle whispers in her ear. “She's scared,” Nat insisted, a note of despair clamped around her throat that Laura had never heard before._

_Laura had crawled to her over the sound of Clint softly explaining_ no, that's just what Laura does when you touch her, sometimes, she wants you, she wants you to know it. _She cupped Nat's face, kissing her and running her thumbs over her cheeks. “I'm never scared of you, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Never. Got it?”_

_It took a few weeks and a few tries, but once Nat processed how raw, how open, how_ Laura _the trembles were, she did everything in her power to make it happen again.)_

“You're awfully excited already. Has Clint not been tending to you properly? Tsk, tsk,” Nat murmurs, her voice thick with tenuous focus. She unhooks Laura's bra with one hand, releasing her just enough to remove it before she's pressing her into the floor, grip just tight enough to register.

Laura grits her teeth as she can feel Nat rock her hips against her abdomen. There's too much infuriating pride in those green eyes for her to stand.

“Less talk, Romanoff,” she groans, arching up into her. Nat tilts her head in thought, but Laura's voice drops an octave. “Please.”

The word is like a lightning strike to the other woman, whose fingers tighten to the sweet point between pain and pleasure. Her mouth descends on Laura, taking a breast into her mouth with gusto. She sucks, hard, tongue swirling, and a whimper escapes from somewhere in the depths of Laura's chest. The jolts of sensation race along her skin, flushing her cheeks and making her buck into Nat's weight. Sinewy legs tighten around Laura's middle, admonishing her rush, even as Nat drags her teeth over Laura's nipple and merrily kisses the valley of her chest before turning to the other.

Laura presses on Nat's hold, aching to touch her, feel her beneath her palms. Nat shakes her head, glancing up from her spot on her breast. She slows to a halt as she locks eyes with her desperate expression.

Without a word Nat rises, using her grip on Laura to help her up. Her red cheeks and swollen lips and the too-big button-up slipping off her shoulder look like heaven.

Finally releasing her, the redhead's fingers race to unbutton Laura's jeans. Laura finally wrestles her out of the flannel, hands grasping hungrily at the slender torso she has missed so much.

She's almost so taken with Natasha's pale skin that she misses as her jeans and panties are pushed down and tugged off of her. When Nat to slides her fingers between her legs, she comes rocketing back.

Laura gasps, surprised by the shock the touch sends through her belly. Looking up, her eyes anchor on Nat, who holds her gaze, steady and unwavering.

“I want to taste you,” she murmurs as her body presses forward, fingers slipping easily against Laura. “I've been waiting all day.”

Nodding, Laura moves her hips against Nat's hand, feeling a deep warmth growing inside of her that seeps through her bloodstream. Nat teases her and dips into her, but moves with terrible patience as she watches her bend at the touch.

Laura knows she can't wait much longer, and doesn't want to. She wants Nat's fingers inside of her, her mouth against her, her tongue all over her. She wants to ask for it all.

Eloquence explodes into sensation in her brain, and instead she leans against Nat and whispers, “Fuck me.”

She's on the bed in an instant, splayed naked underneath a topless Nat. On reflex she spreads beneath her, pulse thumping across her skin. She's sure Nat can feel it. The redhead kisses her a final time before slinking down her body, elbows wrapping around Laura's thighs.

A tremor rips across Laura's body the moment Nat's mouth lands on her. She rumbles out a groan as Nat's tongue traces her folds and laps at the wetness she caused. Probably gleefully, Laura thinks, and almost says it before she's blindsided by lips on her clit and she shouts something intelligible instead.

Laura laces her hands through Nat's curls, holding her against her heat and biting her lip to stay quiet as Nat presses on her in ways that make the room spin. Manicured nails dig into the skin of one thigh, leaving half-moon marks springing up in their wake. Nat’s other hand dips down, two fingers sliding into Laura and crooking upward with expert strokes on the spot she knows so well.

The touches are overwhelming, sending Laura's hips bucking with each expert shift and twist and flick of the tongue. Warmth spreads through her limbs as the building heat within her burns out of control, springing with gusto from Nat's mouth. She tightens on the red hair, tugging as she fights the noises in her throat for control.

“Nat ,” she gasps, “I'm gonna come soon.”

The warning is met with exuberance. Nat slides her fingers in and out of her, rocking against her insides while her tongue presses flat and hard against her clit. It feels like fire and ice all at once, and Laura moves her hips with purpose now, grinding against Nat's mouth. She whispers to her, begging “please” and “harder” and “more” between a string of approving whimpers and whines, until suddenly everything goes white hot.

She comes louder than she means to, filling the room with Nat's name as her whole body lights up and pleasure tears through her like a freight train. She chokes a second shout down into a hiss as she arches into the fireworks that fly from Nat's hands and tongue. Her orgasm convulses through her, and she knows through the fog that Nat's free hand is looped over her middle, holding her down, keeping her still.

Laura rides the explosions as they ebb, panting for air while her senses return to her one by one. She can feel Nat milking every last response, fingers pressing into her until the shivers up her body finally subside.

Untangling from Laura's legs, Nat moves cat-like up to meet her. Mischief lurks behind her eyes as she licks one finger, then two, before leaning in to kiss her with glossy lips.

“I love when you do that,” she breathes.

“Do what?”

 “Just...lose yourself, like that. It's...”

Nat searches for the words for a few long moments before she just shakes her head. “It’s just you. It's perfect.”

_(Some days, and usually only on very bad ones, Laura wonders how these two trained superheroes see so much in her that they keep returning day in, day out. She wonders why they'd wrap their lithe bodies around hers, why her name falls so easily from their tongues, why they bound through her door even when she hears all about the escapades the Avengers are offered. They're gods among men -- and, well, men among gods -- and she's just...what? A B.A. in Journalism and a lot of grit._

_Those are usually the same days that one of them, or both of them, appear at her side, melting themselves into the shape of her. They whisper “I love you” and seek asylum in her arms and it registers in the soft recesses of her brain that sometimes they forget how she can love them, too. So she shows them.)_

Limbs now pleasantly heavy, Laura smiles and draws a finger across Nat's side.

“Sap.”

The spy laughs and drops herself with no fanfare upon her lover, head nestled on Laura's shoulder and body pressed against her skin. Drifting back to Earth, Laura tangles her fingers back up in Nat's hair, fingers scratching along the base of her neck n the spot that made both of her partners stammer.

“Hey. Your turn.”

Nat shakes her head. “Mmm. Yes. In a bit. It was exhausting just watching you. Besides...”

On cue, the sound of footsteps up the stairs startles Laura. “When did they get back?”

“Sometime between 'fuck me' and you shouting my name,” Nat says, cheerful.

She gets a sharp look and backtracks. “You were distracted, but quiet. No one heard anything. Doesn't do anything about what the neighbors two miles down might say, though....”

Laura is just about to do something about her cheekiness -- no, really -- when the door opens to reveal a confused and disgruntled husband of hers. He stares at them. A little dip between his eyebrows deepens. “Excuse me?”

“What?” Nat asks, innocent.

“I do the grocery shopping, I take the children, and what do you two do all afternoon instead? The pie isn't even done!”

His whine and his pout are a touch too put on to be believable, especially as his body tips with intrigue in their direction.

“That's all Nat's fault. She was the impatient one,” she says.

“Uh-huh. And you look real patient.” Clint is eyeing all of her, the scratch marks on her hip, the still-lingering warmth of her cheeks. A grin sneaks onto his face. “A bastion of hard work.”

Nat chucks a pillow at him. Laura doesn't even try to stop her. She listens to Clint's grumbling about not ever getting to have any fun _or_ have any pie, offset by Nat's long-suffering retorts. The thought of her unfinished prep for dinner floats back to her, but she wraps her arms around Nat as their bickering swirls around her.

Eh. The pie can wait, she thinks. Just a few minutes longer.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic beyond drabbles in literally decades, and haven't written in eons. Also, what is erotica? Holy crap, this is hard.
> 
> Thanks to Manda for helping and for the title. Thanks to Tumblr for melting my brain.


End file.
